TETE: Coming up next we've got Crazy Mac vs. La Parka.

FLOYD: Oh, no, not La Parka...

La Parka's theme, "Oops, I Did It Again", comes over the sound system.

FLOYD: Aaagh!!!

TETE: Will you grow up?!?

FLOYD: Aaagh!!!

La Parka appears, carrying a mic and a chair wrapped in brown paper. The crowd is a mixture of boos and cheers. La Parka ambles down to the ring, holding the wrapped-up chair over his head as if it were a sacrificial lamb. He tosses the chair into the ring, then slide under the ropes after it. He picks it up again and tucks it under his arm, then holds the mic up to his skull mask.

LA PARKA: Crazy Mac, you may have gotten lucky at Delirium, fool, but tonight La Parka has planned ahead! Tonight you will not defeat me, for no one defeats La Parka!

He tosses the mic out of the ring and began pacing back and forth. He didn't have to wait long... a few seconds later, "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver" comes up. Again, the crowd reacts with mixed feelings. Crazy Mac is wheeled out in his straightjacket by the assistants, who unstrap him. Mac jumps forward, holding his arms outstretched over his head and screaming wildly, waving his head back and forth. He makes his way down the ramp, and climbs up the steel steps into the ring.

The bell rings, and the two wrestlers rush towards each other. They grapple for a few moments, then Mac pushes La Parka into the ropes. La Parka bounces back, only to be caught and lifted into a hard suplex. Mac takes a few steps back and bounces off the ropes himself, using the momentum to fall forward, bringing his elbow down on La Parka's chest.

TETE: The match coming on fast and furious, with Crazy Mac taking an early lead.

FLOYD: Yeah, he's beating the crap out of that little latino loser!

Mac pulls La Parka to his feet and whips him into the ropes. He bends down to catch La Parka in another suplex, but on the bounceback, La Parka brings up his booted foot and nails his opponent in the face. Then La Parka jumps forward and delivers a clothesline across Mac's chest, knocking the large man to the ground. Mac jumps back up almost immediately, and he and La Parka begin trading blows.

La Parka quickly gains the upper hand, and Mac is knocked back into the turnbuckle. La Parka grabs Mac's arm and whips into the opposite turnbuckle, and quickly follows after him to crush Mac with his body. Mac slumps to his knees, and La Parka jumps up and smashes his elbow into Mac's shoulder.

TETE: Looks like La Parka is regaining the upper hand in this match.

FLOYD: Boo! Booooo! Down with La Parka!

TETE: So I take it you're rooting for Crazy Mac?

FLOYD: Uhh... umm... no.

TETE: So who are you rooting for?

FLOYD: ..... Yay, Floyd! Floyd's the best!

La Parka pulls Mac to his feet and whips him into the ropes. On the rebound, Mac jumps into the air and smashes into La Parka, and both of the wrestlers tumble to the mat. Mac slowly climbs to his feet, holding onto the ropes for support. After a few moments, he begins kicking La Parka in the ribs, then reaches down and hoists La Parka into the air.

TETE: It looks like Crazy Mac is trying to deliver his finisher, the Psycho Drop!

But before Mac can finish the move, La Parka grabs the ropes and pulls himself out of Mac's grasp. La Parka lands on the apron, then grabs Mac's head and drops onto the floor, pulling Mac's head into the ropes.

Without missing a beat, La Parka runs back to his wrapped-up chair and brings it towards Crazy Mac. He raises it above his head and swings it down, but Mac manages to roll out of the way just in time. Mac sweeps his leg out and trips La Parka. Mac then climbs to his feet and grabs the chair and raises it into the air, circling slowly around so the entire audience could see. He then takes the chair over to the turnbuckle and smacks it into the pole, causing the seat to break off from the frame.

FLOYD: How come everybody always wants to break that chair?

TETE: Wait a second, Floyd, look!

The paper wrapping had ripped apart, revealing an ordinary steel chair. Crazy Mac stares at the pieces for a few moments, confused.

Meanwhile, La Parka climbs under the ropes and reaches under the ring, then reappears with his real chair. He slides back into the ring real quick and stands behind Mac with his chair ready to be swung. Mac turns around, and La Parka swings the chair right into Mac's skull. Crazy Mac falls backwards. La Parka goes for the pin, and the ref counts... 1... 2... Mac barely gets his shoulder up in time. La Parka jumps up and yells at the referee.

TETE: It seems like La Parka can't believe that anybody could withstand his special chair shot.

Mac slowly gets up and staggers around the ring for a few moments. La Parka turns away from the referee, then bounces off the ropes. He jumps into the air, holding his chair in front of him, and smashes into Mac. The large man falls again, and once again La Parka goes for the cover. The referee begins counting... 1... 2... 3!

TETE: La Parka picks up his first victory in the USXWF!

FLOYD: Ah, big deal... any shmoe can take out Crazy Mac.

La Parka pulls off his skull mask and parades his chair around triumphantly for a few moments before climbing out of the ring and walking back up the ramp with his theme music playing.

FLOYD: Turn it off already! Can we start a petition to force La Parka to change his music?

A few moments later, a pair of assistant's roll Crazy Mac's restraints out to the ring, lug him in, lock him down, then roll him off again.

TETE: Both men definitely making a nice beginning to the USXWF.

FLOYD: Are you kidding? Neither of them are worthy to wipe my butt after I take a--*

TETE: A-A-A-A-AND moving on... coming up next, we've got a match between the USXWF Tag Team champions and their challengers, the Brothers Hand.

FLOYD: What?!? This is so totally unfair! First I have to force myself to stay conscious during that last fight, and now I have the Idiot King and his Pet Freak to deal with? And those demented Mormons?!?

TETE: The Brothers Hand are Mormons?

FLOYD: They dress funny, right? They have freaky religious rituals, right? They're as Mormon as Mormon can be!

TETE: I don't think they're Mormons.

FLOYD: You're right, there's one "M" too many.

Right then, "Mahadeva" comes up over the sound system, and the Brothers Hand appear at the top of the ramp. They both pause, taking a deep breath, before heading down the ramp, dancing stiffly in an attempt to mimic C-Cube, but not quite pulling off the effort. They climb into the ring and wait in a fighting stance for their opponents.

The music stops, and the lights drop, leaving the entire arena in blackness for several dozen seconds. Finally, with a blast of red, yellow, and blue pyrotechnics from several different areas about the arena, "Pink Elephants On Parade" hits the speakers, and The Court Jester and Mike the Chicken Eater dance into view. Both carry their tag-team belts. They pause atop the ramp, the Jester raising his belt into the air with his eyes wide and his grin even wider, then he throws his head back and laughs loudly. Mike, clutching the belt in one hand, pulls a rubber chicken out of a pocket in his overalls, bites the head off (he's got strong teeth), then throws the remains into the audience. After several seconds, the two proceed down the ramp, hopping onto the apron, then bouncing over the ropes.

After a few moments of deliberation, the Jester pats Mike on the back and climbs under the ropes. For the Brothers, Remington decides to take the first fight.

TETE: We'll begin this match with Mike the Chicken Eater versus Remington Hand...

FLOYD: Be careful, Remington! Mike didn't brush his teeth!

The bell rings, and the two face off. They circle for a few moments, making a couple of false lunges, before Remington dives in towards Mike. The smaller man sidesteps the Hand, causing Remington to go into the mat. He jumps back up again, glaring at Mike. Again, the two circle. Again, Remington makes a dive, this time catching Mike in a clothesline. Mike jumps back up again, and brings his booted foot around to hit Remington in the side. Remington falls up against the ropes, but bounces back and brings his elbow up into Mike's face. The Chicken Eater goes down, but somersaults backwards and regains his footing.

TETE: The action going fast and furious, but neither man getting a decent advantage over the other.

FLOYD: Remington's just hesitant to touch Mike... after all, who knows where that idiot has been?

The two grapple for a few moments, then Remington whips Mike towards the ropes. Mike bounces off, only to get caught in a flying clothesline by Remington. Mike flips over, landing on his back. Remington then lifts Mike to his feet, wraps his arms around Mike's head, and delivers a nice DDT. Remington then tags in his brother Cyril, and the two grab Mike and lift him up into a double-suplex. Mike writhes slightly as Remington climbs out, leaving Cyril alone in the ring.

TETE: It looks like the Jester really wants to get in on the action.

FLOYD: Ha... I don't think the Jester's capable of "action".

TETE: I'm talking about wrestling.

FLOYD: Oh... uh... so was I!

Cyril tries to replicate his brothers' success, again hauling Mike to his feet and whipping him into the ropes. On the bounceback, Cyril leapfrogs over Mike's back, bounces off the ropes himself, then leaps into the air. On the other side of the ring, Mike also jumps up, and the two crash in mid-air, swinging each other around and landing onto the mat hard.

TETE: Ooh! Desperation maneuver from Mike, and now both men are out!

The two slowly regain their senses, crawling towards their respective corners, their hands outstretched for their partners. The Jester claps his hands wildly, trying to get Mike to hurry up, while Remington shouts to his brother. Cyril tags Remington, and the fresh brother runs forward quickly. Just as Mike is about to tag the Jester in, Remington grabs Mike's leg and pulls him backwards, out of reach of his tag-team partner.

FLOYD: You know, that's the kind of thing that makes a guy not want to get up in the morning.

TETE: And how would you know?

FLOYD: It was one of the questions on "Jeopardy" last night.

Remington begins kicking Mike in the gut, back, and head, mercilessly beating the smaller man into submission. Mike tries to fight back, but Remington drops his elbow right across the back of Mike's neck. Remington then hauls Mike to his feet and hurls him into the turnbuckle, then gets into the opposite turnbuckle and rushes towards his opponent, his arm up to smack Mike across the chest.

Just before Remington makes contact, Mike ducks under the clothesline, causing Remington to smash chest-first into the turnbuckle. Mike quickly pulls on Remington's feet, causing Remington to fall face-first into the mat. Then, using the ropes for support, Mike dives towards his partner, tagging in the Jester just as Remington climbs to his feet.

The Jester smashes shoulder-first into Remington, then wraps his arms around Remington, bounces off the ropes, and uses the momentum to lift Remington off the ground, whirl around, and smash him back into the mat. With a sharp, loud laugh, the Jester jumps onto the ropes, bounces back, and lands a moonsault right onto Remington's chest. Finally, he pulls a whoopie cushion out of his pants and inflates it, then climbs atop the turnbuckle, and with a demented shout, brings the whoopie cushion down on Remington's face, making the sound of a brisk fart and causing Remington to grasp his face in pain. The Jester tosses the whoopie cushion into the crowd, then covers Remington. The referee begins to count, but Cyril runs into the ring and kicks the Jester in the ribs, spoiling the pin. Cyril kicks at the Jester's ribs for a few more seconds before the ref grabs him and pushes him back to his corner.

While the ref's back was turned, the Jester hauls Remington to his feet and forces him over to his own corner. Mike grins, and jumps down off the apron, reaches under the ring, and comes back up with his special 3-foot-tall plastic chicken. The Jester smacks his forearm across Remington's chest a few times, then stands back and lets Mike smash the plastic chicken into Remington's head. Mike then quickly tosses the chicken to the ground, just as the ref returns his attention to the fight.

Remington staggers forward a few steps, and the Jester leans forward, causing the crowd to pop (they know what's coming next). The Jester lunges forward, catching Remington in a spear across the midsection. The two bounce into the ropes, and the Jester uses the momentum to haul Remington over his shoulder and back down to the ring for the pin.

Just as they do so, Cyril rushes in to break up the pin again, but Mike was ready. He leaps off the turnbuckle and catches Cyril in a hurricanra, even as the ref counts... 1... 2... 3! The Jester leaps up with his arms in the air, and again tosses his head back in maniacal laughter. The audience chants "Wedgie! Wedgie!" The Jester, only too happy to please, reaches down to Remington's wrestling pants, grabs the base of his briefs, and pulls hard. Remington is lifted more than a foot in the air before his undergarments tear free, and the Jester has another trophy for his collection.

TETE: The Sideshow retains their title, and the Brothers Hand lie lifeless in the ring!

FLOYD: Well, at least that goes to show that those Sideshow idiots are good for one thing...

TETE: What's that?

FLOYD: Beatin' the tar outta some fundies!

TETE: You know, you're going to get sued one of these days.

"Pink Elephants On Parade" comes back up over the sound system, and the Sideshow (after recollecting their plastic chicken) amble back up the ramp, holding their tag-team belts high into the air and singing along to their theme music (along with several of the more jovial audience members). A few moments later, Remington and Cyril climb back to their feet, and painfully trot back up the ramp.

TETE: The Jester has even more of a reason to smile now, Floyd. The Sideshow and the Brothers Hand have had a fierce rivalry dating back to the earliest days of the USXWF.

FLOYD: Aw, heck, when has the Jester ever needed a reason to smile?!?

TETE: Good point.

FLOYD: Look, I love a good joke as much as the next guy, but they really need to calm down. And get haircuts, both of ‘em. And dress better. AND STOP EATING CHICKENS!

TETE: I'm sure they'll take your advice under consideration, Floyd. But for now, we've got another match coming up... The Mask versus The Lineman!

"Duel of the Fates" hits, and a few moments later, The Mask appears, hunched over slightly, wearing the IC belt, and followed by Tanner. The Mask glances around slightly, gripping the belt as if it were a treasured family heirloom. Tanner climbs into the ring, followed by his charge. The Mask stands dead-center in the ring facing the ramp, while Tanner paces slowly around him.

The Nebraska Fight Song remix replaces the previous music, and the Lineman jogs into view, carrying a football. He signs the ball and throws it into the audience, evoking even more cheers from the crowd. He ambles down the ramp, flashing his slightly-goofy/slightly-handsome/all- pleasant smile. He pauses midway between the Abbottron and the ring, pulls off his jersey, and tosses that into the audience as well.

FLOYD: If he begins taking off his pants, I quit.

TETE: I think, for once, you and I agree, Floyd, although I don't think you really have to worry.

The Lineman waves towards the audience again, showing off his massively-muscled upper torso (and slightly tubby lower torso), before climbing onto the apron and slipping between the ropes. Tanner climbs out of the ring, and the bell sounds.

The Mask stands where he is, staring at his opponent. The Lineman, dropping into an "en guarde" position, slowly circles his towering adversary. He feints to the left, then rushes in to the right and catches The Mask about the waist in a powerful tackle. The two go down, crashing into the ropes. The impact causes the Lineman to lose his grip, and a second later the two were back on their feet. Again the Lineman rushes in, catching The Mask in the solar plexus with his shoulder. The giant drops to one knee, breathless from the impact, and the Lineman backs up to the opposite side of the ring, rushes forward, and again tackles The Mask, smashing the larger man into the turnbuckle.

TETE: It looks like the Lineman is dominating the match early on! We could have a new Intercontinental champion tonight!

FLOYD: I don't think the Lineman can even spell "Intercontinental." You know, I don't think The Mask can, either.

TETE: Can you?

FLOYD:.... Uh... I-N-T-E-R-C-O-N.... er...

TETE: Nevermind, Floyd, nevermind.

The Lineman raises his massive arms into the air, eliciting more cheering from the crowd, who begins chanting "Nebraska! Nebraska!" The Lineman backs into the corner opposite The Mask, again looking as if he were going to deliver another massive tackle. He rushes forward, leaning down for the lowered attack. Just before impact, The Mask raises his foot, catching the Lineman in the face. The Lineman ricochets off and rolls around on the mat, holding his forehead.

The Mask lumbers to his feet, staring down at the Lineman. Like the infamous tower at Pisa, The Mask leans over with one arm outstretched, and falls, planting his elbow right across the back of the Lineman's neck. The Mask then pulls the Lineman up, whips him into the ropes, then kicks him in the gut as he bounces back. The Lineman staggers away, clutching his gut, trying to get a good breath of air into his lungs. But The Mask grabs the back of his neck, whirls him around, and with a powerful lunge of his upper body, hoists the Lineman into the air, then sidewalk-slams him back into the ring.

TETE: The Mask manages to make a complete reversal! He's going for the pin!

Indeed, The Mask splays his large body over his opponent, and the ref begins counting. The Lineman manages to break the pin at the 2-count.

FLOYD: Close call there. Say, maybe the Lineman's using all those drugs, like all those football players that got thrown in jail?

TETE: Those were the Dallas Cowboys, Floyd. You know, from Texas?

FLOYD: Texas, Nebraska, it's all the same. Hick-country, you know. Dubyaville.

TETE: Are you a ringside announcer or a Bill Maher wannabe? Pay attention to the match!

The Mask plants several solid kicks against the Lineman's ribs, then again drops an elbow down, this time on the Lineman's chest. The Lineman crawls to his knees, and The Mask leans down, grabs the Lineman up onto his shoulder, then slams his body down on the center of the ring. Tanner climbs up onto the apron and shouts some orders, and The Mask nods in obedience. The Mask lumbers over to the corner and hauls himself up onto the turnbuckle. He pauses there, watching the Lineman roll over and over, waiting for the perfect chance to jump.

As he waited, Trent Valentine appears, wearing heavy bandages around his ribs and limping badly. He carried his crutch with him. He rushes as fast as he could down the ramp, favoring his right leg.

FLOYD: Look out, Mask, it's loverboy! Look out!

Just as The Mask was about to jump, Trent smashes his crutch across The Mask's back, and the huge man crashed down to the ring. Trent then retreated, shouting taunts to The Mask, as Tanner came around, too late, to intercept. The Lineman rolls over and drapes an arm over The Mask, but The Mask gets his shoulder up.

The two men slowly recover, and to escape attack, the Lineman rolls out of the ring and leans up against the barricade. The crowd surges forward, patting him on the back and cheering him on. The Lineman straightens up and turns back towards the ring, only to notice Tanner coming at him with a steel chair. Not wanting to take a nasty shot to the head, the Lineman lunges forward and catches Tanner in a clothesline. The ref shouts at him to get back in the ring, but Tanner regains his footing and slams his forearm into the Lineman's back. The ref turns his attention to Tanner, telling him to return to his corner.

While the ref is distracted, the Lineman grabs Tanner's dropped chair and slides into the ring. The Mask, who had been slowly recovering through all this, lumbers forward. The Lineman keeps the chair hidden with his body until The Mask got close enough, and then the Lineman smashes the chair upside The Mask's head. The Lineman drops the chair and goes for the cover, but the referee still was distracted. The Lineman smacks the mat, trying to get the ref's attention.

TETE: The Lineman's had The Mask in a cover for more than three counts now, Floyd! The Lineman should be the new IC champion!

Finally, the ref turns his attention back to the fight, and drops to start counting... 1... 2... just before the third count, The Mask gets his shoulder up. The Lineman climbs back to his feet, disbelieving the turn of events. He takes a few steps back as The Mask returns to his feet, as well. Right then, the Lineman jumps forward for another tackle, but The Mask lunges out his hand and grabs the Lineman's throat. With a massive lunge, he hauls the Lineman into the air and choke-slams him onto the chair. The Mask then drops down for the cover, and the ref counts again... 1... 2... 3.

FLOYD: Oh, darn. The Lineman loses. Here's the world's smallest violin, playing the world's saddest song.

TETE: Will you shut up? This is quite an upset... the Lineman almost won the IC title, in only his second match with the USXWF. Obviously, he's a powerful contender.

"Duel of the Fates" picks up again, and Tanner brings the IC belt back to The Mask, who snatches it away and clutches it tightly against his side. With a smirk of satisfaction, Tanner climbs out of the ring and marches back up the ramp, with The Mask right behind. As the two disappear underneath the Abbottron, the Lineman climbs back to his feet, glares after them, then takes his own leave, taking a few moments to wave to the crowd as he went. The cheers were no less enthusiastic than before, despite his defeat.

TETE: Despite the best attempts of Trent Valentine, The Mask retains his title.

FLOYD: Well, Trent should learn to follow his doctor's orders, which, I'm sure, don't include intruding on someone else's match.

TETE: Although I still find it impressive that Trent's alive at all.

FLOYD: Well, that's true. I guess a broken heart leads to some bodily resilience.

TETE: Floyd, that's got to be the most profound thing I've ever heard you say.

FLOYD: Really? Gosh, I feel so dirty now.